


a simple song for Pales, who was misunderstood

by contrappostopesto



Category: Early Modern Era Mythology, Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 10:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrappostopesto/pseuds/contrappostopesto
Summary: The title is the description.Probably the most personal piece of writing I'll ever produce, now or later.Neither a canto or a chanson, but something in between.





	a simple song for Pales, who was misunderstood

when first they came to you  
  
in a predetermined place they'd built  
  
of silver and piled dirt  
  
  
  
leading those who looked like you  
  
as tribute, an offering, or a threat;  
  
  
  
distant as that past once was  
  
then and only then  
  
did you cling to the long shadows fixed to tall pillars  
  
finding the smoke of temple fires  
  
while hiding you from prying eyes?  
  
  
  
this idyllic painting  
  
could not last forever  
  
so, idly,  
  
you read the stars and said  
  
all the omens that came to mind  
  
teaching them the hidden signs  
  
codas in closing that promised  
  
all things would be well.  
  
  
  
when the shephards' daughter  
  
confessed to you,  
  
in fear  
  
for those she tended to -  
  
held tenderly, to her heart;  
  
did the two of you  
  
stay awake all night  
  
telling her stories, in the dark  
  
until she had hope once more  
  
even as you knew  
  
the truth?  
  
  
  
when  
  
storms wracked the coast  
  
and swept your name away  
  
but you threw open the great brass doors  
  
to let them in  
  
giving shelter to a herd  
  
that had outgrown the world  
  
you no longer quite fit in.  
  
  
  
but  
  
  
  
how proud you were  
  
for how kind they were  
  
and how wise they had become.  
  
  
  
so  
  
  
  
when  
  
they left once more  
  
and you realised  
  
humanity's kindness  
  
was a lie  
  
  
  
did you grieve  
  
and can we ever know?  
  
  
  
when  
  
they recast you  
  
in forgotten concrete  
  
did you smile, at the loss?  
  
because you thought you might as well  
  
and that if you smiled strong enough  
  
maybe you might teach them  
  
to smile, too?  
  
  
  
when  
  
no one came in from the rain  
  
and you were left alone,  
  
again;  
  
when arbor vines grew wildly  
  
over statues  
  
that might have grazed  
  
for pastures long left  
  
untended even in memory  
  
  
  
and when  
  
they named you demon  
  
for your melancholy eyes  
  
a compassion that burnt like the midday sun  
  
or the flowers against your skull  
  
did they stop  
  
to consider you?  
  
  
  
and when  
  
  
  
lined in a row of faces   
  
solemn as steel  
  
you interceded for mercy that would not be  
  
granted to men who did not know  
  
or had never known the shape, of you;  
  
for which the temple fires burned,  
  
once more.  
  
  
  
did you believe yourself   
  
lost, to bad interpretations  
  
margin-notes and chamomile  
  
symbologies and simulacra and viscera in ink  
  
flattering fanciful men passing time idly  
  
whose faith was a passing thrill?  
  
  
  
and now  
  
(when)  
  
powerlessly,  
  
you witness  
  
the same unrighteous anger  
  
which burnt your flock of tin  
  
hatefully holding a clenched fist  
  
in a circle, around your name  
  
malcontent and buzzing  
  
like the flies  
  
around the skull  
  
of a goat?  
  
  
  
but they cannot  
  
make you anything,  
  
anything but what you are,  
  
for you have always been stronger  
  
than prayers burnt on reed paper and offered up  
  
for promises of things to come.  
  
  
  
so  
  
do not mourn.  
  
  
  
for when the bleached bones  
  
of cruel men  
  
have worn themselves out  
  
laying forgotten  
  
the base of a hill  
  
will still stand,  
  
sunlit,  
  
where sheep may graze.  
  
  
  
and even if it is only you, who knows  
  
the soft jokes you told  
  
and the sorrow mischief hid  
  
or the advice so patiently given,  
  
consoling grief, and soothing pain.  
  
  
  
and if it is fate to be forgotten  
  
then all things fated remain;  
  
until such times come and pass  
  
i shall recall you  
  
for whom you are.


End file.
